


Eyes Of Glass

by InoruMarufuji



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Bittersweet Ending, Chocolatier Felix, Flashbacks, Han Jisung | Han Being an Asshole, Han Jisung | Han is a Little Shit, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Royalty, The members are there for like five seconds each, Witch Lee Felix (Stray Kids), i guess?, i know i'm surprised too, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InoruMarufuji/pseuds/InoruMarufuji
Summary: “It's a gift for my boyfriend”, Minho explained fondly, his gaze trailing towards the boy who had his back towards the two of them, sitting in front of the cozy fireplace and enjoying the warmth.Felix hummed, opening his velvety suitcase and letting his fingers graze over the box he had brought with him per Minho's request.“Let me hear his story.”----Minho requires Felix's services. Felix stays to listen to a tale as old as time.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	Eyes Of Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhyAreAllUsernamesTaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyAreAllUsernamesTaken/gifts).



> Happy White Day, Bine! This one is for you, as a little thanks for the Valentine's gift I got <3
> 
> It's not much and it feels incomplete and awkward with the lack of dark stuff, but maybe you'll like it?

“This should be the place...”

Muttering quietly to himself, Felix took another look around the narrow, yet undoubtedly quaint and antique street, illuminated by the glow of a few old-fashioned lanterns.

It was located in a secluded, rather abandoned district of the city, having fallen victim to the erosion of time, the forgetfulness of humankind and the magical charged energy gathering in the place.

An ideal spot for Felix's latest customer to hide from any prying eyes or curious inquisitions on why he seemed to have been around for longer than should be humanly possible, never losing his youthful appearance even as time scraped by in its relentless fashion.

Granted, Felix himself could barely fathom his customer's age, for he hadn't been in his business for too long yet, still needing the occasional assistance from Chan when it came to more complex orders.

This one was but a run-of-the-mill job, his clientele consisting of all kinds of creatures and entities anyway, so he had offered to make the delivery himself despite Chan's protests.

Truthfully, the point of time could have been a better one, with White Day being one of their most important, profitable days of the year, but he was convinced the older would be able to handle the onslaught of orders on his own for a few hours.

Because despite his claims that he would only drop by to hand the order over and collect his fee, Felix felt like the tiny, with ivy overgrown studio had a lot to tell him, secrets guarded over centuries hovering in the air as he brought up a hand to knock.

He couldn't look past the tinted windows, neither did he feel any desire to intrude on his customer's privacy, so he simply waited patiently in front of the mahogany door, his suitcase hanging light as a feather off his arm.

He could have managed to carry its contents without one at all, however, he liked the air of practiced professionalism it gave him, the sense of business that allowed for him to keep emotional distance from his customers.

Something that was as necessary as it was expected in his field.

After a long, drawn-out minute of waiting, the wood gave way, a boy with dark hair stepping out, his initially reserved expression morphing into a polite smile the second he noticed Felix's suitcase.

“Ah, the chocolatier, is it? I'm Minho, please come inside.”

He gestured for Felix to enter, opening the door a little wider and revealing the interior that bore resemblance to a sewing room with the sheer mass of stitched blankets, pillows and clothes all over the place, the rolls of fabric lying around in disarray and the sewing machine set up on a desk at the side.

It was disorderly at best and absolute chaos at worst, designs and half-finished projects strewn around the room, dangerously close to an open fireplace, yet what really caught Felix's attention was the boy sitting in front of said fireplace, wrapped in cozy blankets and with his back to the pair.

He didn't even turn around to offer a greeting to Felix, simply fixating on the flickering flames dancing inside the furnace as if they were the only thing that mattered and while it was certainly odd, it wasn't Felix's place to pry.

Instead, he gave a slight bow, taking a careful step inside the studio since he didn't want to slip on any stray fabrics.

“Yes, my name is Lee Felix and I'm here to deliver the chocolate you ordered.”

Minho's gaze immediately found the suitcase again, the same hungry, desperate _want_ behind his facade that was visible in every customer, and while Felix was typically aware of every pressing desire his clients might have, he still chose to ask.

If only to mask the omnipotence of his being, given to him by the pact he had accepted.

“May I know the reason behind your order though?”

A smile tugged at the corners of Minho's lips, fleeting and almost unsure in nature as his eyes adopted a hazy shimmer, possibly recalling a memory buried in the depths of his mind.

It was a sensitive subject, close to heart, damned with the harsh needles of fate that sewed the story as they liked, so Felix gave Minho some time to steel himself, placing his suitcase on one of the tables and looking around once more.

Something black at the edge of his vision grabbed his attention, a curtain of some sorts that had been hastily thrown over several objects, and he filed that information away for later, glancing at Minho again when the older decided to speak up.

“It's a gift for my boyfriend”, he explained fondly, his gaze trailing towards the other boy who still hadn't given any sign of being present or being aware of their conversation, sitting apathetic in front of the fire.

Felix knew what this was about, at least in the roughest sense possible, but he didn't say anything.

He hummed in a mix of pitiful understanding and silent encouragement, opening his velvety suitcase and letting his fingers graze over the box he had brought.

“Let me hear his story then.”

Minho considered his request with a slight tilt of his head, enamored recollection fighting subdued professionalism, stars appearing in his eyes and the faint flow of magic in the room fizzling with energy.

“Over a hundred years ago, there was a boy called _Jisung_...”

White, powdery flakes descended on the brightly lit, cheerful streets as an icy echo of winter, encasing the city in an even thicker layer of solitude and silence, the world seemingly slowing to a stop to appreciate the bitter coldness.

However, the few select people traipsing along the bridge above Han river were unaffected by the temperatures, protected by layers upon layers of clothing as they chatted with each other, debating presents for Christmas and plans for the holidays.

Beneath the choreographed dance of snowflakes, their laughter, their joy reverberated around the place, rich and full of life as they ignored the misery within plain sight.

The misery that was reflected in a tiny boy cowering at the edge of the bridge, arms wrapped around his petite frame in an effort to keep the freezing cold at bay, a feat clearly in vain judging by the way he was shivering, teeth chattering and stomach growling demandingly.

The boy's eyes were clouded over with regret and a stoic facade of courage, yet he didn't make an attempt to talk to any of the passing, pitiless figures, knowing his whimpers would fall on deaf ears and selfish hearts.

Nobody wanted to acknowledge the unpleasant reality of people they considered beneath them, especially right before a fest like Christmas.

Absorbed in their prude self-satisfaction and a sense of chosen blindness, ignorance, they went along their way with smiles on their faces and the promise of warmth in their steps.

They had a home.

This boy clearly didn't.

Minho normally didn't like to dwell on the fleeting tragedies of time, the doomed history of certain individuals a mere splatter against the canvas of time, and while he had succeeded in ignoring the boy a day prior, this time he found himself slowing his steps, the crunch of his boots in the snow sounding menacing even to his own ears.

As someone with nothing left to lose save for his life, there was no reaction from the bundle of flimsy rags on the ground as he stepped closer, only the hitch in his breath telling Minho that the boy was indeed aware of his presence.

“What are you doing here?”, he inquired carefully, softly, the winterly gusts of wind nearly sweeping his words away. “You've been on this bridge since yesterday.”

The boy exhaled shakily, gaze still firmly cast on the snowy street, and for a fragment of a second, Minho considered simply leaving him like this once more, questioning why he had stopped to ask in the first place.

An expected casualty of the cruel deeds of humankind wasn't worth his immortal time that could be spent more wisely on finishing his latest creations, but there was a tug in his chest whispering for him to stay, to _listen_ , if only to entertain the fates.

As much as he despised adhering to their all-encompassing power, they were typically proficient in inspiring his next projects, enjoying the game Minho had laid out for their pleasure, the simple give and take of this jagged liaison probably the only source of entertainment they had.

“My name is Minho”, he tacked on after a moment of receiving no reply, reaching out his hand in an offer to help the boy up.

The boy stared at it, unsure, hesitating, and Minho used the time to take in the disheveled soul in front of him, eyes that once might have held hopes for the future and a soaring flame of passion reduced to a flicker in the wind.

It was fascinating, endearing, much like the slightly puffed cheeks that reminded him of a squirrel, or the way the boy's hair seemed an unnatural shade of purple that Minho had never really seen before.

He was pretty.

“Jisung”, the boy breathed out, voice vulnerable and fingers frozen as he placed his hand in Minho's, a display of trust and hope alike as he allowed the older to pull him to his feet in one swift movement.

He struggled to keep his balance, wobbling like a kitten, holding onto Minho with a scared whine, already attaching himself to the warmth radiating from the older after being outside in the scathing cold for so long.

“Will you take me home with you?”

Wrapped in a few self-knitted blankets, Jisung sat in front of the fireplace in Minho's studio, a warm mug of hot chocolate in his hands as he stared at the twirling flames.

The stiffness that had frozen his muscles, rendered him immobile, had long since seeped into the comfy wooden floor, though he had yet to move from the spot the older had put him in, afraid that any move on his part would shatter the illusion around him.

He couldn't believe he had been lucky enough to witness the grace of basic humanity after being denied of it for so long, neither had he expected the kind stranger – Minho – to actually agree to let him stay for a night, especially since he didn't have anything he could offer as compensation.

He had no money, no prized possessions, no home, no safety, no nothing, just a bunch of delusional fantasies in his head and a deep wish for a better life in his heart, harbored and guarded as a secret.

There was no use indulging in something he could never have, in the desire for a wealth like the one people around him possessed, a higher social standing where he didn't have to agonize over how to keep himself fed, a life of riches and abundance as far as the eye could see.

Selfish as it might be, he yearned for a king's way of life, dreaming of riding in one of the royal carriages he saw everywhere around the city, calling a huge, pretentious castle his own, having a flock of servants to command, enjoying luscious meals and worrying about nothing except what to wear to his next tea party.

He wanted to live like royalty and the depressing reality that he was but a mere peasant, unworthy of such greatness and despised by society, an outcast even among his own group, weighed heavily on his chest, the first tears slowly building at the corners of his eyes.

Ashamed to cry in front of Minho, he pulled one of his blankets a little higher, trying to shield his face from the questioning glance the older threw him, worry as much as curiosity reflected in the way he moved closer, reaching out for Jisung once more.

He wasn't touching him, simply letting his hand hover in the space between them, too close, yet still too far out of his reach at the same time.

Jisung wasn't sure what to make of it.

“There's something you wish for, isn't there?”

Minho's sweet, comforting voice dripped like honey, soothing and haunting, distinct, enticing, and Jisung found himself drawn into the promise behind his words, the whisper urging him to open his heart.

“Is there something I can do for you, Jisung?”

Hypnotized, struck by a tingling force that burned away his embarrassment, his answer spilled from his lips almost naturally, a blend of whimpers and pleas for a future, dreams confined to his mind that were bursting at the seams.

He didn't want to die like this.

Having nothing, no reason or purpose tied to his existence, no joy to ease the burden of his cruel fate, he felt like he had been dragged into the depths of hell long ago, left and forgotten to crumple under the weight of what _could have been_ , had the fates been kinder to him.

But they hadn't and he was stuck living a life he would have thrown under the bus if it weren't for the single string of hope he was still holding onto.

The string of hope that tied around Minho's hand, invisible, but still glittering in the light the fire produced.

“Do you want me to enchant you, so that all your dreams can come true?”, Minho asked, nothing but sincerity in his warm eyes, an aura of magic surrounding him that snuggled up to the younger.

His words were lost at the tip of his tongue for a moment, wonder encasing his heart, and he allowed himself to hope.

“Please.”

It was little more than a breath taken in despair, a glimpse at the future he could have with Minho's help, the prospect drawing him closer like a moth to a flame.

He wanted it.

He wanted a shot at a world fate hadn't gifted him.

Grasping for Minho's hand to solidify their agreement, their _pact_ , his heart nearly stopped in his chest when the older pulled his arm back, out of reach, as if he was reconsidering his offer.

Jisung was desperate.

“I will make this pact with you, though I will set a condition”, was the simple explanation he was given, but he nodded mindlessly, fixated on Minho's hand like it held the answers to the universe.

“Anything. Anything you want.”

Pleased with the response, a smile appeared on the older's features as he offered his hand a second time, cocking his head in a playful manner, as if this was a game to him.

Maybe it was. Jisung didn't care.

“Magic always requires a fee to be paid and I will take mine from you the moment all your wishes have been fulfilled. If you're fine with this, you're free to take my hand.”

Despite having gotten the go ahead, Jisung hesitated, not out of fear of what fee he might have to pay, but simply to brace himself for the transition to the new destiny Minho was leading him towards.

Taking a deep breath to calm his fluttering heart, he gently placed his hand in Minho's, the skin on skin contact sending a surge of electricity through his body while his surroundings flashed in a blinding white that had him shutting his eyes against the light.

All sense of grounding stability left him at once and he floundered in the void, flying and falling at the same time until a sudden shock rippled through him, painful, unrelenting.

He shot up, instantly realizing he was no longer in Minho's studio, but instead tucked away under the fluffy blankets of a bedroom that certainly wasn't his, if the high ceiling and the spacious, noble interior were anything to go by.

Golden furniture surrounded him on all sides, plush and expensive rugs covered the elegant marble tiles below, a variety of paintings lined the wall that had probably cost more than Jisung would have ever made and behind the wide windows laid a grandiose view on the ocean.

The morning's sunlight that filtered in the room broke breathtakingly in the chandelier above his bed, glittering shards singing a melody meant only for Jisung's ears and he gaped at the spectacle, mouth hanging open in awe.

Coming from a place of poverty and minimalistic opportunities, he was completely and utterly overwhelmed upon taking the room conjured for him from his imagination and he actually struggled to keep his breathing under control as he scrambled out of bed, the fancy rug beneath him igniting a spark of joy that spread through his whole being.

He was allowed to have this.

He _had_ this.

The realization was goosebumps appearing on his skin, happy tears welling up in his eyes and the insatiable craving to dance taking hold of him, broken only by a knock on the impressive, ornate door.

Before he could even begin to wonder who was in front of it, Minho had already stepped inside, dressed in a suit and wearing a pleasant smile that made Jisung's head buzz.

“Did you... did you create this all on your own?”, he questioned, spreading his arms and twirling around his axis to showcase exactly what he meant, the action succeeding in getting a little chuckle out of Minho.

“Sorry to disappoint, but my magic doesn't work like that”, he admitted, holding out his hand again as if to invite Jisung to dance together with him. “Instead of creating things from scratch, I take them from others and give them to you.”

The sentence almost brought somberness to Jisung's mind, the magical illusion of receiving his riches from a heavenly source sullied by the reality that they were nothing more than stolen goods, but at the same time...

_He didn't really care as long as they were his._

Even if this was someone else's mansion, someone else's dream, he would keep dreaming it anyway, a sort of petty payback for all the years he had barely gotten by in the mess of a world while other people went about their business, uninterested in his suffering.

Now _Jisung_ was the one who could turn the cold shoulder and revel uncaringly in earthly bliss and everyone else could fuck off.

“In fact, this mansion belonged to His Royal Highness, Seo Changbin”, Minho mused, gesturing lazily towards a photo on the nightstand that showed said boy in the middle of some fancy gathering.

Jisung took a step towards the picture, a pang of _something_ in his chest having him whipping to Minho in panic.

“Will he have me arrested?! Will I get thrown into jail?!”

The older had to hold back on a laugh as he shook his head, a simple movement of his hand causing the photo to fade into oblivion since it clearly only served to agitate Jisung.

“Don't worry your pretty little head, I took care of everything”, he snickered, extending his hand towards the boy once more. “So, what would you like to do first?”

If there was any hesitation left inside Jisung, it was washed away as he grasped Minho's hand, the need to explore his new life gripping him, his entire being vibrating with energy.

He was out of the door before Minho even had a chance to breathe out, being forcefully yanked along to wherever they were going, but he didn't mind, Jisung's enthusiasm more than endearing in all that it was precious.

His eyes seemed to sparkle with the light of a dozen stars, the awe of a kid on Christmas morning or the reflection of the sun itself as he strode along the marbled hallways, royal wallpaper to his sides and the chandelier's light illuminating his pretty hair.

The fates seemed to have been in his favor this time, which was odd, yet not exactly unwelcome, no matter how amusing their game of give and take was.

“Your Royal Highness!”, a voice from the end of the hallway suddenly reached his ears and he did his best to straighten up, knowing he had to act his part to feign the role of _personal butler_ he had taken over from its predecessor.

Already donning the appropriate clothing with a tacky suit, a simple shirt and a tie, he certainly looked the part, and as one of the staff of this mansion entered his field of view, he made sure to give a polite bow as well.

“Good afternoon”, he greeted the lady, unsure if it was really afternoon, but having to roll with it now. It wasn't like he couldn't magically change the time of day if needed. “I'm escorting His Royal Highness downstairs.”

God, this was cringy.

He supposed he had been assigned worse jobs over his lifespan, but it was still fucking ridiculous, especially since Jisung was still holding his hand, giggling as Minho made a fool of himself. Lovely.

The lady – who seemed like a kitchen maid now that he thought about it – returned the bow, then eyed Jisung with a rather shocked expression.

Probably due to his clothes which were not only torn, but also a good hundred years ahead of its time.

Minho would have to take care of that.

“Your Royal Highness, please remember that we have a ball tonight. Please dress appropriately for the occasion.”

Jisung visibly lit up at the mention of a ball, the brightness of his smile increasing even more as he turned to Minho.

The older couldn't stop his heart from fluttering.

“Oh, oh! And I want a white horse! Like those in the fairytales!”

Jisung heard Minho scoff playfully in reply, letting out something that sounded suspiciously like _This isn't a fairytale_ , but he chose to ignore it, instead focusing his attention on the matter at hand.

Redesigning Changbin's boring ass garden.

It was rather frustrating what a lovely and huge estate he had at his disposal, only to plant probably the most boring flowers in the history of anything – yellow roses.

There was literally nothing else besides a sea of yellow on the entire estate, some remnant of utter devotion that _did_ appear almost fairytale-like, but Jisung had gotten rid of it quickly enough, vouching for his _own_ array of flowers to be put there.

Hey, if he was going to live here, he might as well give the place a little more style.

Absentmindedly tugging at the clothes he had borrowed from Changbin, he took in the sight of his work so far, including the flower beds he had Minho arrange so they spelled out his name in colorful specks.

Pretentious, yes, but he considered it laying claim to what fate had robbed him off.

Besides the flower beds, he had wished for cherry blossom trees to line his garden, the petals always in bloom and falling gracefully around him with every step.

There was also a sparkling river running across the estate, inhabited by flying, rainbow-colored fishes and ending in his very own fishing pond that would never thin out no matter how much he fished.

It all felt like some fever dream made reality, like he was walking on sunshine itself, his head up in the fluffy clouds as he looked down on everyone the way they had done.

It was sweet revenge.

“Is that one good enough?”, Minho asked him, holding the reins of a majestic horse that was as white as snow itself, and Jisung cooed as he hurried over to the older.

“Can I ride it?”

Frankly, he knew next to nothing about how to properly handle a horse, but he figured this was as good of an opportunity to learn as any, even more so when Minho suddenly mounted the horse before swiftly pulling him up as well.

The sudden closeness startled Jisung, as did Minho's steady heartbeat he could make out in his back and the warmth radiating from him, but he couldn't deny that it felt really nice.

“You can try, but without my assistance, I don't think you'd make it far.”

Minho passed the reins over to him and the horse immediately started trotting, the up and down making him bounce uncomfortably on the animal's back.

He tightened up unconsciously, digging his feet into the horse's sides, trying to make himself heavy to keep from bouncing, yet that only served little in its purpose to keep him still.

With each bump, he could feel the horse stiffening up in defense, which in turn only made him rise up higher and soon enough, he found himself dropping the reins in favor of grasping the horse's mane, something he was scolded for by Minho.

“You need to relax”, he advised, reaching around Jisung for the rein, tugging the younger closer to him so he could feel what exactly Minho was doing behind him.

Instead of being affected by the trot, he drove his seat into the horse on every beat, feeling and pushing forward with every stride in a manner that was so natural and elegant that it seemed as if Minho had never done anything else besides riding horses.

It was alluring, fascinating, and with the wonder that took hold of him as he leaned back against the older's chest came a sense of jealousy about not being able to do this as flawlessly as Minho.

“I could teach you a thing or two, what do you say?”, was the playful offer he received, Minho's hot breath grazing his ears and making him shiver in pleasure as he thought about it.

He knew a skill like this required years of hard training, discipline and consistency until he had mastered it as well as the older, but even with this offer, at the end of the day he didn't really _want_ to put in such an effort.

He just wanted the skill.

And that was the thing, wasn't it?

Jisung no longer had to feel jealous for anything or try to master anything.

He was no longer confined to having no talents, relying on others to teach him even the most basic of things.

He could just... wish for it.

“I want to be able to ride horses! Right now!”

Minho let out a disappointed sigh at his answer, his grip around Jisung's waist losening for a moment before he was able to find his composure again, his slightly resentful nature hidden behind an amused chuckle.

“As you wish.”

The strain in his voice was almost enough to get Jisung to turn around and ask what Minho's problem was, but the thought abruptly slipped his mind when he felt a surge of adrenaline in his veins.

A natural reflex took over him, his newly acquired riding skills at his disposal as he took the reins, easily moving up and down to the rhythm of the horse's strides.

It was ridiculously easy, even without Minho's help, and he proudly lifted his head, fixating on a point at the horizon while letting his muscles do the work on autopilot.

This was great.

He would have a lot of fun with this power.

Jisung was by far the most dazzling, gorgeous person at the ball.

From the moment he stepped into the festive, pompously decorated hall, the glittering accessories and countless medals from various contests on his clothes reflecting the light and drawing all attention to him, he had immediately assessed that no one in this room was a truly worthy presence for his glamour.

The swaying, dolled up figures engaging in a slow dance or laughing over a glass of fine wine were less than the dirt beneath his feet and he made sure to inform them of their standing as he let his gaze wander over the crowd.

They stood in awe, admiring him as they should, and he felt his chest swell at the pride of representing his superior royal status in front of all these fake royals.

“The master of this house has arrived”, he proclaimed his entry, reveling in the applause that set in as he descended the flight of stairs, Minho next to him holding his hand in a display of devotion.

The knowledge that the older's power was at his disposal to warp the world into his ideal image was intoxicating, filling him with giddiness that turned the corners of his lips up, short of a smile, yet still too much to give to these simpletons.

Over the course of the last few weeks, he had really settled into this new role he had fantasized about so much as a poor peasant boy, taking things left and right, up and down, always craving more, more, _more_.

The taste of sweet gourmet food went hand in hand with the taste of new skills his soul longed for, riding horses, speaking dozens of languages perfectly, painting so beautifully that it made everyone cry, dancing so elegantly, so passionately that it had every head turning.

He was the highlight of every party he was invited to, the know-it-all and do-it-all of his precious kingdom, the cherry on top of the whipped cream that was the sea of tasteless nobels surrounding him at all times.

Really, they should be honored to be graced by his presence, larger than life and all-knowing as he was.

Perfection. He was perfection.

“What about it? Have I fulfilled your every wish now?”, Minho asked quietly as soon as the attention had dispersed a little, Jisung merely scoffing as he caught the older's furrowed eyebrows and the worry present on his face.

Regret concealed behind a pleasant mask of professionalism, he seemed unusually fidgety about being here and for a moment Jisung did consider pulling him aside to ask about the nature of such feelings, but he dismissed the sentient in an instant.

This wasn't about Minho. It had never been about Minho.

It was about _him._

“Not yet”, he gave back, perhaps a little more harshly than intended, watching a frown twitch on Minho's face. “I don't fancy how they styled my hair tonight. Suppose you could make it a bit longer?”

It took little more than a snap of Minho's fingers for him to feel black, fluffy strands falling over his shoulder and though they weren't his, he immediately took a liking to them once he glanced in one of the mirrors that were hung up on the walls.

Not only did the color make him appear even more elegant and royally blessed than he already was, but there was also a shiny diamond pin fixed in his hair, perfectly accentuating the silver hue simmering beneath the black.

Gorgeous.

It really did look better on him, he was sure of it.

Minho's hand slipped away from his all of a sudden, some hurtful recollection seeming to dawn on him as he struggled to stay composed, but Jisung didn't care, seeking something else among the crowd that could bring him closer to the fulfillment he sought.

Because as it stood, he could take the most desirable parts of anyone and everyone and yet still not quench the hunger roaring in his soul, the feral ego that wanted to feast on more and more, fully knowing humankind was a bottomless pit of evolution.

There would always be someone _better,_ someone more _perfect_ in any of the countless fields he excelled at, so he had to keep taking, keep feeding into his urges.

And as fate would have it, the first faint tunes of someone playing the piano suddenly wafted over to him, breaking the chattering of guests as they stilled to listen to the melody.

A melody given voice by the person playing the keys, a work of art in which it spoke directly to the souls of the guests, Jisung himself quieted down to lend his ear to the soft, beautiful singing that accompanied the piano.

It was a catharsis, a symphony of the soul brought into key with the vibrations of the loving universe and he _wanted it_.

“That's Jeongin”, he heard one of the royals praise the boy whose singing easily overtook the entire room. “I've heard he has sung in the opera before.”

“With such a heartfelt voice, that has to be expected!”

While the royals continued to fawn over the boy among themselves, Jisung turned to Minho, ignoring the exasperated, almost pleading expression in his eyes, the older fully aware of what he would ask for next.

Jisung didn't care. He didn't fucking care.

This wasn't about Minho's feelings.

_It was about him._

And he wouldn't let anyone take his well-deserved attention from him, wouldn't stand for the way these royals insinuated that Jeongin's voice was in any way superior to his own.

“Him”, he declared firmly, pointing at Jeongin who was sitting in front of the piano, enjoying the way his voice mixed with the melodic tune of his instrument and entranced everyone present.

He looked at peace. Good for him.

“I want his singing voice.”

A resigned sigh spilled from Minho's lips, part tired, part irritated, but Jisung knew he wouldn't, _couldn't_ , refuse him.

He was tied to the pact the two of them had, if he liked it or not.

And as Jeongin's voice faded out into nothingness right in front of him, suffocated like a flame in the wind, yet reignited as a spark in Jisung's chest, he couldn't help but to bask in the horrified expression on the boy's face.

Another thing back where it belonged.

Another step closer to perfection.

_Jisung didn't know where he was when he opened his eyes._

_Around him, there was nothing but desolate, endless darkness that seemed to swallow all sounds while at the same time being charged with a threatening, unknown force that made him shiver._

_He could feel hostile intentions all around him, his vulnerability put out there for anyone to take advantage of, so he instinctively backed away, calling out for Minho in a demand for him to take the darkness away._

_“Minho!”_

_“Oh, don't bother”, someone hissed and Jisung flinched, looking around in panic despite his inability to see anything._

_Who was there? Did he know them?_

_“You don't know me, yet you keep taking from me anyway”, the same voice gave back with a bitter laugh._

_There were a few deliberately slow steps towards him and he backed away once more, freezing when his surroundings suddenly lit up and revealed the figure of an unknown boy right in front of him, looking at him with deep disdain._

_“How are you enjoying my life?”, the boy spat and Jisung realized with a start that this was Changbin, the original owner of all those things Minho had gifted to him. “My mansion, my garden, my clothes! How are they?!”_

_Jisung didn't even want to give him the satisfaction of answering, yet as he sharply turned around, he came face to face with Jeongin, the boy positively fuming from anger._

_“Give it back!”, he demanded, a hand around his throat as he took a furious step towards Jisung. “My singing voice!”_

_“No! Never! It's mine now!”_

_Feeling cornered by the boys that crowded him with malicious intent, Jisung threw himself to the side in an attempt to escape them, but he didn't get far, immediately bumping into a shadow._

_Scrambling to get away, he wasn't fast enough to evade the grip that suddenly clamped onto his hair, pulling demandingly, aggressively._

_“My hair! My dancing! How dare you!”_

_Terrified that this shadow was about to tear off his hair, Jisung flailed around rather pathetically, a spark of victory flaring up in his chest when he seemed to hit something and the shadow let go of him._

_He stumbled back, yet upon looking around wildly for an escape, he couldn't find one anywhere, just a vast, white expanse of nothingness all around him, disturbed by masses of creepy shadows that slowly inched closer._

_Oh god._

_Were those... all the people he had taken from?_

_There were so many, an impenetrable wall of contempt coming his way, but he couldn't possibly have robbed all of them... Right?_

_“No matter what you get, you're never satisfied”, Jeongin accused and Jisung immediately made an attempt to deflect, feeling exposed and strangely vulnerable in his own skin._

_“That's not true, I **am** satisfied!!”, he argued, but he could tell his heart didn't agree, his tone flat, emotionless, greedy._

_He still wanted more._

_Why did he want more? What more was there? What else could he have?_

_“You're lying. Because you don't even know what you really want.”_

_Jeongin's expression abruptly changed into a smug, condescending grin, a mirror to Jisung's own behavior that had him jolting, though he couldn't really go anywhere._

_He couldn't run from himself._

_“And what you really want doesn't even exist here anymore!”_

Jisung startled awake in a panic, Jeongin's haunting words reverberating in his mind and his breath coming in short, frightened puffs.

His heart was thundering in his chest, trying to process the nightmare he just had, to separate the dreadful dreamworld from his utopian reality, yet for some reason he couldn't mentally detach, too caught in the demanding grip these illusions had over him.

“Is something wrong?”, Minho's gentle voice asked him, the older already in the process of pouring Jisung's morning tea as if this was just any regular day. “You seem sweaty, you should drink—”

“No!”, Jisung nearly yelled, a wave of nausea crashing over him as he shot up from his— _Changbin's_ bed. “I don't want it! I don't need it!!”

He could be better! He could stop taking things from others!

Minho blinked in surprise, but carefully set the teapot down, thinking the younger's words over as he lowered himself on the bed.

“You have no more wishes?”

The implication was clear in his question.

It was terrifying, the blade of a guillotine right before it struck his neck, and Jisung paled at the prospect of finally meeting his end of the deal, not yet ready to commit to whatever consequence this might have for him.

He couldn't let it end here like this.

“No, it's not that I don't have wishes... It's just...”

_You don't even know what you really want._

Grasping for a way to phrase the innate desire within himself that he had longed to sate this entire time, he met Minho's eyes in a desperate, unspoken plea for him to understand.

Even if he couldn't place the swirling in his stomach, the pounding of his head, the yearning for a vague sense of something _greater_ than material goods, Minho could surely assign a feeling to the chaos in his head.

However, the older simply stared at him, anticipating, confused, resigned, and it was like a punch to the gut as Jisung realized Minho didn't know what he wanted.

It was soul-crushing, disappointing, painful, though he didn't understand what exactly made him feel that way, the sob that fought its way up his throat completely overwhelming him simply because he couldn't grasp its meaning.

Tears gathered in his eyes, familiar sorrow overflowing in his heart, and it made him angry because _why wasn't he happy?_

He had everything he could ever wish for, a prosperous, bright future in the palms of his hands, every single star in the night sky ready for the taking and yet the deeply-rooted dissatisfaction bloomed inside of his mind as strong as ever.

Something was missing from his life, the hole left behind of a nature that couldn't be filled by anything physical, that didn't answer to the calls of worldly temptation.

What did it answer to? What was he missing?

Minho had fulfilled so many of his wishes and at the end of the day, he still felt empty, greedy, incomplete—

_Lonely._

He was lonely.

All these riches and talents he had collected – _stolen_ screeched a voice in his head –, they were enjoyable for a moment, a fragment of his life, but when it came down to it, he missed the warmth of someone next to him.

He missed the warmth of someone in his heart.

Loving. Receiving love in return.

“I want...”

Bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes, he met Minho's gaze, the older seeming as if he wanted to say something, conflicting virtues visible in his eyes, forcing him into a decision he didn't want to make.

There was a spark of _something_ in those eyes, heavy and light, yearning and despising, meaningful and meaningless at the same time, a flurry of confusion and painful recollection doomed to drown in the course of time.

Jisung didn't know what it was.

But he didn't ask.

“I want... love.”

Exhaling shakily, Minho nodded a few times, suddenly seeming unsure, almost _small_ , no longer holding that air of magical superiority and practiced professionalism that had served to put a barrier of glass between them.

Unstable, meant to break with just a tiny push, Jisung felt like the person in front of him was nothing more than a boy like himself, struggling, trying, losing the fight against the higher power of the fates controlling him.

_Do you want love too?_

He didn't ask, even with the diminishing distance between them, the way Minho had to mentally steel himself just to answer him, floundering in that certain unstable realm between _hoping_ and _knowing_.

“I can—”

His voice was scratchy, almost thick with tears he hadn't shed, but was crying anyway, and even though every part of Jisung was screaming to reach out and tear down the pretense that was this pact, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

They were so close, yet still miles apart from understanding each other's feelings.

“I can give you a noble, elegant prince from another country if that's...”

_If that's what you want._

The proposal tore at Jisung's heartstrings, frustration bubbling under his skin, but he still didn't reach out, treading in safe waters for a moment longer, reveling in the bliss before it would be taken away from him.

He didn't want a prince from another country.

He just wanted...

“I want you.”

Drawing a deep breath, he took a step forwards in false hope, the disappointment when Minho moved back only hitting half as hard as expected, yet stinging anyway.

Hurtful truth shimmered in the glazed over eyes in front of him, old fears and new struggles dimming the spark that had been there before.

Minho was shaking, quivering, possibly on the edge of tears just from that one sentence, and Jisung sighed, not able to deny that he was the one who was making this difficult.

He had been selfish, _was_ selfish even now, for he had actually expected the older to reciprocate the pleasant tingle in his stomach, the rose-tinted images in his head, the rapid pounding of his heart.

He had actually expected to shatter the glass wall standing tall and proud even now, a looking glass of fact and fiction reflecting only the desirable parts, the eyes that regarded him with fondness, the heart that ached at his miserable life, the hand of warmth that he had been offered.

Jisung wondered if Minho would have made the pact if he had known they would end up here. Like this.

He wanted to try, to conjure magic out of the feelings that were _so clearly there_ , but simultaneously he had to admit to himself that this was as far as he could go.

The love he longed for was already lost to him, a flower having bloomed out of season without him noticing.

_What you really want doesn't even exist here anymore._

Jisung closed his eyes, dreading the words he had to say, but pushing himself to say them anyway.

He couldn't keep running. It was only fair.

“I... I have no more wishes. You can take your fee from me.”

He kept his eyes closed, no longer feeling like he had the mental strength to look at Minho without bursting into tears, and while he did his best to brace himself for the sweep of magic that he knew was coming, a sudden touch on his skin caught him off guard.

It was fleeting, hopeless, as they were, but he was thankful for the gesture anyway, clinging onto the small sliver of comfort given to him with everything he had.

He didn't know what would await him at the other end of his future, the mere thought terrifying in itself, but he was willing to take it.

“Jisung.”

Minho breathed his name like it was a prayer, utter devotion, desperate dreams dripping from his voice like honey and hearing his voice like this, so raw, so _real_ was enough for him to embrace his fate.

Maybe he was content.

“Please don't forget this. Back when your smile was bright and your eyes were alive...”

Jisung couldn't recall these times, but he felt touched Minho had seen them, had _lived_ them even if he himself had been too caught up in the illusion of happiness.

Maybe Minho had been content back then.

Maybe their happiness was time-delayed, torn apart by the fates in search of an amusing drama.

It didn't matter anymore.

All that mattered was that in this single, precious moment, Jisung loved.

And Minho... didn't.

But that was okay, because after all...

“Back then I did love you.”

“A sad story”, Felix commented, yet the pity discernible in his voice never reached his eyes as he regarded the doll in front of the fireplace.

An eternal smile captured from a juncture of pure, unfiltered happiness, and unseeing eyes that stared longingly into the flames, Felix couldn't contain the aversion itching at his skin as he handed the box over to Minho at last, feeling like he shouldn't have asked in the first place.

“While I fulfilled his wishes, his eyes slowly grew cold like glass. It was the same as with every other doll here.”

Felix raised a brow at the statement, having not perceived the presence of any other dolls beside Jisung in the room, but his gaze automatically wandered back to the curtain he had noticed earlier, the one that was thrown over a few objects in a hurry.

Following where he was looking, Minho reached down and pulled on the curtain, revealing a variety of dolls placed on the ground, no doubt other souls he had managed to win over.

The thought was repulsing, but Felix kept his unbothered, uninvolved facade as he skimmed the dolls whose faces seemed oddly familiar, trying to keep his presumptions inside his own head.

“Well then”, he spoke casually, clearing his throat. “I believe it is time for me to take my leave now.”

“What about your fee?”

Felix couldn't help but let a smirk slip onto his face at the question, Minho's confused ignorance incredibly amusing to him as he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing the mark etched into his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

_Chan's mark._

A reminder of the bond created between a witch and a demon that allowed him to draw upon enough magical essence to pay his fees himself, if he so desired.

He normally chose not to use this power, seeing how he _did_ want to make some profit with his business, but this time, he simply didn't feel comfortable taking his fee from Minho.

He would do it when the older approached him once more in the future with his next order.

Minho's eyes widened as he set his sight on the mark, but if he knew what it entailed, he did well to hide it behind what seemed like genuine surprise.

“Oh, I wasn't aware you were in a pact with a demon”, he carefully remarked, obviously looking to press the matter if the sudden glint in his eyes was anything to go by, but Felix waved him off, rolling his sleeve down again to mask the mark.

“Yeah, well, it is of no importance to this business deal.”

“Of course not”, Minho immediately agreed, extending a hand to him as if to thank Felix for the uncomplicated transaction.

Naturally, it was more than that.

It was always more than that.

So Felix merely stared at Minho's hand, the smirk never leaving his face as he watched the older's expression fall in realization, hot embarrassment washing over his features before he dropped his hand.

“Sorry, I—”

He wanted Felix to believe it had been a honest mistake, but there were no mistakes in this business, neither was there a doubt that Minho had tested him just now.

After all, anyone who did take his hand was already a doll to begin with, just waiting to get gifts from him.

Scoffing to himself, Felix turned around without another word, a few strides carrying him out of the studio and into the darkness of the night where he took a deep breath full of fresh air.

Another order done.

Time to grace yet another tortured soul with his visit...

Minho opened the box the chocolatier had given him, still musing about the fact that Felix had insisted on paying the fee with his own essence when the door to his studio opened once more.

Knowing that there was only a single person who would be paying him a visit in the dead of night, he wasn't surprised to see Seungmin standing on the threshold, looking wonderfully annoyed.

“Is the doll I ordered finally ready?”

“Always so impatient”, Minho gave back with a snicker, motioning for the other male to step further into the room and join him at the fireplace.

He turned the box of chocolate in his hands, gauging Seungmin's reaction, pleased to see his naturally hostile expression soften the slightest bit.

Maybe he could make this work.

“I finished your doll, but I hope you haven't forgotten what I want in return.”

Minho passed a hand through Jisung's hair, marveling once again at how soft it was, his heart doing summersaults in his chest as he recalled the reason why he was doing this.

Soon. He would have what he wanted soon.

Those unseeing, glassy eyes would soon perceive the light of day again, brought to brilliance by the pact Minho would offer Jisung once more.

Only this time not as a simple dollmaker, dependent on stray essence and magical chocolate, but as someone – some _thing_ – beyond his limitations.

Averting his gaze from Jisung, he found Seungmin already studying him with a calculating shimmer in his cold eyes, curiosity extending past the deal they had agreed to carry out, a question resting at the tip of his tongue, but he didn't press.

It wasn't really his business anyway.

“So, what are you wating for?”, Minho challenged after a moment of constructed silence had passed between them, his studio brimming with energy that needed to go somewhere.

The power he wanted was right in front of him.

Seungmin just had to give it to him.

“Are you gonna turn me into a demon now?”


End file.
